


Keg of Glory

by ETraytin



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Drunk Josh, First Bartlet for America Campaign, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-22 13:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8287952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETraytin/pseuds/ETraytin
Summary: The gang unwinds in Illinois during the first Bartlet For America campaign. Donna discovers that Josh has a sensitive system, and Josh is determined to prove he can drink her under the table. Everyone else is just entertained. NOW COMPLETE!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Today's Tumblr prompt is from Anonymous, who asked "What if Donna's alcohol tolerance is really sturdy, and Josh discovers - much to his mortification - that his tiny assistant can drink him under the table?" Seems like a perfect humorous counterbalance to yesterday's much sadder story. Keep sending prompts, it's still three weeks to the election! (And if you're in the US, check out your early voting laws and make sure to vote as soon as possible! Don't wait till the last minute if you don't have to!)
> 
> Feedback is welcome and beloved and appreciated, and it keeps me going on this reckless quest I have embarked upon!

The bar was unprepossessing at best, a little hole-in-the-wall attached to a Ramada Inn in central Illinois, cheek by jowl with an equally unprepossessing little diner that at least smelled like good hash browns. But it was attached to the hotel and it had alcohol, and for the moment that was all the hardy pioneers of the Bartlet for America wagon train required. CJ had come down early to scope the place out, deemed it just fit for human habitation, and staked out the largest table. By the time Sam and Toby made it down, she'd fended off two clumsy passes and briefly considered one smoother one, and nearly finished her first vodka tonic. 

“Don't you know drinking alone in the daytime is the first sign of an alcohol problem?” Toby asked as he slid into the booth next to her with a squat glass of bourbon. 

“You'd be the one to know, Tobiathan, but in case it escaped your attention, it's after seven already. A very respectable drinking hour.” She picked up her glass and tossed back the rest of its contents, just to show him. 

“Tobiathan?” Toby asked, brow raised. Sam took a seat next to Toby and snickered. 

“I'm trying something new,” she told them loftily. “Nicknames increase team unity.” 

“And to think we pay you to speak to the American people.” Toby shook his head. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you pay me almost nothing,” she retorted. 

“Little bit,” he acknowledged. 

Sam laughed again. He was finally starting to appreciate Toby's acerbic humor, which made life easier for everyone. “Where's Josh?” he asked, picking up his own beer. 

“He was still at the college last I saw him,” CJ offered. “He'd gotten into an argument with four or five undergrads over farm subsidies or Middle East politics or possibly some of both. But somebody,” and she glared at Sam, “made the mistake of telling the Governor how Lincoln climbed out the window of Old Main to debate Douglas because the doors were blocked shut, and we were about thirty seconds from a very embarrassing photo op. We had to go.” 

“It's a great story!” Sam defended himself. “And I think we could do worse for a photo op, easily. The Lincoln-Douglas debates are iconic in Illinois, which is the state we're currently busting our asses to win. Emulating Lincoln isn't the worst idea in the world.” 

“Lincoln climbed out the window onto a stage,” CJ pointed out, “a stage that wasn't there today. Could've been awkward, him just sort of jumping out a first-floor window.” 

“Especially if he got stuck,” Toby added with a grin. 

CJ groaned and slid out around the other side of the round booth. “I need another drink.” 

As it turned out, she finished her second drink and switched to beer before Josh came swaggering in with his pretty young assistant at his heels. They were arguing, as usual, with the kind of sublimated sexual tension typically reserved for screwball comedies of the 1930s. CJ figured that as long as they kept arguing she was all right, it probably meant that nothing salacious was happening. “Josh! Donna!” she called, waving them over. As they got closer, CJ noted that Josh's swagger had more than a little stumble in it, and Donna's grip on his arm was a bit tighter than it looked. 

“What's going on, gang?” Josh asked cheerfully. “Didn't you even notice you left us behind? We had to throw ourselves on the mercy of the college students. Donna almost got three or four dates, but I shut them down pretty fast. She has terrible taste, you know,” he whispered very loudly. Donna smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Ow!” 

CJ looked at Donna. “What the hell happened?” 

“We got into a discussion with some of the poli-sci students and they invited us over to one of their houses for drinks and conversation.” She shook her head, looking a little baffled. “I could've sworn he only had a couple beers and a shot.” 

“A big shot,” Josh added. “It was a challenge, I had to do it. We were listing off all the amendments to the Constitution, and I forgot the nineteenth.” 

“That's kind of an important one, Josh,” CJ said indignantly. 

“I mixed it up with the twenty-fourth!” he whined. “I didn't forget it entirely.” 

Sam was obviously counting off amendments in his head. “You forgot that women didn't just start voting in the 1960s?” 

“Saaaaam!” Josh complained, “you're supposed to be on my side here! Why's everybody heckling me all of a sudden?” 

“He wasn't like this at the thing, was he?” CJ asked Donna. 

“No, he was okay,” Donna assured her. “He started really feeling it while we were walking back. I almost called a cab, but I don't think there are any. I didn't realize he had such a delicate system.” 

“I could drink you under the table, Donnatella Moss! Just because you stand there all nursing your beers...” Josh grumbled. 

“I forgot three amendments,” Donna admitted with a laugh. “Then I just sort of gave up. What?” she asked when he goggled at her. “They were Fireball shots, it wasn't like I was going to get drunk off three of them. Unlike, apparently, some people.” Donna, CJ noted, wasn't even swaying as she stood with one arm still hooked under Josh's elbow. 

“No wonder they were asking you out,” Toby observed. By now he and Sam were just openly laughing. “Sit down before Josh falls down and I'll buy you a real drink.” 

“She doesn't need you buying her drinks, Toby, if anybody's going to buy her a drink I'm going to buy her a drink but she doesn't need to be drinking any more because she's obviously drunk,” Josh muttered as Donna poured him into the booth and slid in next to him. 

Toby nudged Sam out of the other side of the booth and stood up. “What's your drink, Donna? Please don't tell me you drink Fireball shots by choice.” 

She smiled sweetly at him. Josh glowered. “Rusty nail, please. And a big glass of water for my friend here.” Toby snorted and headed for the bar. 

“I want a rematch!” Josh announced suddenly, turning his glare on Donna. 

“You're still going to know more amendments than me,” Donna pointed out. “I need to practice.” 

“Damn right you need to practice if you're going to work in the White House,” Josh insisted, completely missing Donna's quick look of surprised gratification. “I mean about the shots. There is no way you can be less drunk than me right now. There was something fishy going on with the way those shots were measured out.” 

CJ put her tongue in her cheek. “Unless they measured out your shot in a water glass, my friend...” 

“Shh! I'm working this out!” Josh told CJ with a frown. “Now it can't be tonight because we're already on even footing. And it can't be tomorrow or the next day because we're going to be up to our ass in the Chicago leg of the trip, and then there's the primary. After the Illinois primary,” he announced to all and sundry, “Donna and I will go head to head and we will prove who has the greater constitution for alcohol, and the greatest knowledge of the Constitution.” 

“I'll give you constitutional knowledge, considering you went to law school for three years,” Donna offered magnanimously. “But this is a terrible idea.” 

“You're not chicken, are you?” Josh asked, the light of challenge in his eyes now. “Got a little of the cluck in you?” Sam dropped his head to the table, laughing helplessly. 

“Never engage with a chicken, Donna,” CJ advised. “It won't ever end well.” Josh countered this with another series of clucks, nearly spilling the plastic tumbler of water that Toby put in front of him. 

“Thanks, Toby.” Donna accepted her drink and sipped it, then turned to regard Josh. “Okay fine, but if I win, I want a raise.” 

“I can't give you a raise. You have to get Leo drunk for that.” Josh grinned when she sputtered. “But I'll let you pick our seats on the bus for the rest of the campaign.” 

“Or the plane,” she added shrewdly. 

“Fine, or the plane,” he acquiesced with a sigh that said he'd been feeling clever. “But if I win, you have to put on a short skirt-” 

“Joshua...” CJ interjected warningly. 

“A medium-length skirt and show us that cheerleader routine you told me about the other day. What was that all about, Purgolder Pride?” Josh was grinning again now, certain of his advantage. “What the hell is a Purgolder anyway?” 

“It's a mythical cat, very noble, and extremely good at basketball, obviously,” Donna told him with a glare. “And that's a very sexist bet, but I will make it with you because there is no way I'm going to lose, and I'm going to laugh that much harder at the atrocious hangover you're going to have afterwards.” 

“Deal.” They shook on it. 

CJ shook her head. “You are both children.” 

“Yeah, but you're still going to come watch, right?” Donna asked daringly. She had no trouble giving Josh hell, or Sam most of the time, but she usually found CJ and Toby a little bit intimidating. 

“Bet your ass,” CJ grinned at her. 

“Then it's settled!” Josh automatically took a drink of water when Donna nudged the cup towards him. “After we win Illinois, we will drink from the keg of glory, and see who's the last man standing. And it will be me.” 

“Whatever you say,” Donna replied indulgently, sipping her scotch.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turned out, there was no drinking contest subsequent to the Illinois primary. Instead, Donna packed Josh a bag and booked him a plane ticket while he sat on his bed, alternating between staring blankly at his hands and spitting out long lists of things that would have to be accomplished in his absence. Donna would pause in her work long enough to dutifully note them down, even though many of them weren't his job at all and merely things he'd have been hassling the other campaign leads about. By the time he trailed off into incoherence it was time to send him to the airport, so she hugged him tightly and reminded him to call her when he arrived so nobody would worry, and that his black tennis shoes were in the outside pocket and had no real leather because she'd checked, and that they would all be thinking of him. She made sure he got into the hotel's airport shuttle and tipped the driver herself to make sure Josh got to the right terminal and knew he was supposed to check in with United. And then there was nothing more to do, so she went down to the ballroom and cried on CJ because telling Josh about his dad had been the hardest, saddest thing she'd ever done. 

Josh left the campaign for only three days, coming back just in time to throw himself into the final push to win California. The burial would've been almost immediate, Donna knew. After he'd told her about the shoe thing, she'd done research on Jewish funeral customs. Josh's family weren't highly observant, but there were some things that were just done a certain way. It was hard for her to guess at his mood when he focused so thoroughly on work, but the campaign's increasing momentum did seem to help. The crowds were getting bigger, and they got a second bus, this one with working air conditioning and the words “Bartlet For America” professionally painted on the sides. Sam seemed to be making it his mission in life to cheer Josh up, and Donna did her part by procuring horribly burnt, utterly destroyed hamburgers that made her midwestern almost-farm-girl heart cringe because that was how he liked them and would eat them. A diet of burnt meat, french fries and half-flat pop wasn't the healthiest thing going, but she figured it was better than him not eating at all. Sometimes she snuck onion rings or baked plantain chips onto the menu just so she could feel like he was getting some fruits and vegetables. 

There was one last primary debate just before primary voting in California, something Donna was very excited about. She'd missed the first debate on her ill-advised trip back to Madison, so this was new and novel, with a much smaller field than last time. Josh got pretty excited about the debate too, but in a bad way, so that Leo made her take Josh out to the audience and watch from there so that he didn't psych out the Governor with last-minute prep. Josh spent the whole debate scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad and muttering additional comments for her to write down on her own pad, but by the end he looked grimly satisfied. “That's it,” he told her quietly. “That's the ball game.” 

He was right, too. Just a couple of days later, Bartlet took a huge share of California's delegates, along with the huge share he'd claimed of Illinois, and the writing was on the wall. Even before all the votes were counted, pundits were already wondering openly about how soon Hoynes was going to concede. The work of the campaign wasn't over; in a lot of ways it was just starting, but a celebration was still called for. Donna found herself swept down to yet another hotel bar for the impromptu party, with a wineglass full of champagne pressed into her hand. “To Governor Bartlet, a good man who deserves to be a great president,” Toby called out over the hubbub, because he trusted nobody else to give a toast that avoided tempting fate. “And to all of us who are working to make him president, who deserve a drink!” Donna cheered with everyone else and clinked her glass with Toby's new assistant, Ginger, before drinking. 

Josh found her just a couple of minutes later, his own wineglass in hand, looking so intent that for a moment Donna wondered what new disaster had befallen the campaign. “There you are!” He took her by the elbow and drew her across the room. “That's your first, right?” He pointed to her nearly empty glass. 

“Yes,” she answered uncertainly, frowning at him. “I'm not drunk or anything if that's what you're asking. What do we need to be doing?” 

“Not drunk yet,” he insisted, a grin creeping over his face. “You and I have unfinished business, Donnatella, and Leo has told everyone to take the morning off tomorrow. You will be able to nurse your defeated hangover in peace.” 

Donna hid her smile with the rim of her glass. Even Josh at his most boastful and obnoxious was a hundred times better to see than the washed-out, dispassionate and silently grieving Josh of the last week. She was under no illusion that he was better, but this was at least different. “That's really very thoughtful of you,” she replied with a smirk. 

The senior campaign staffers had once again managed to stake out a round corner booth, where CJ, Sam and Toby were already waiting with a pitcher, a couple bottles, and quite an array of clean glasses. “What are we drinking?” she asked, sliding neatly into the booth next to CJ. Josh sat down opposite her, the light of battle in his eyes. 

“First you both need to finish your champagne, so you start off evenly,” CJ instructed. Donna's was almost gone already, so she quickly finished it off and set it aside. Josh tossed his back as well, and she thought it possible his eyes might already be just a bit glassy. CJ nodded approval. “For the rematch itself, you can choose tequila or whiskey, but you both have to do the same shots.” 

Josh frowned. “Wouldn't it be more scientific for us to do the same shots as last time?” 

Donna wrinkled her nose. “You don't do a drinking contest with Fireball, Joshua. I'd throw up from the cinnamon before the alcohol.” 

“CJ was going to offer you vodka,” Sam told Josh helpfully, “but I remembered that party in Congressman Mayhew's office when we were interns. I've never seen anybody throw up so much. I figured you wouldn't want to be tasting that.” 

Josh grimaced. “All right, fine. But we'll do whiskey. I don't want to deal with all that stupid ritual.” 

“Whiskey's fine,” Donna agreed, folding her hands neatly on the table. 

Toby meticulously measured the drinks into a jigger, then poured them into the shot glasses. “This is a terrible waste of a decent whiskey,” he muttered, but Donna could see the amusement lurking behind his sullen expression. “All right, go ahead.” 

Donna picked up her glass and looked Josh in the eye. “To your health,” she said, raising the shot slightly in his direction before tapping it lightly on the table and throwing it back. Toby was right, it was a decent whiskey, didn't even make her shiver or grimace as it settled warmly into her stomach. 

Josh had put away his shot as well, but now he was glaring at her suspiciously. “You didn't even flinch,” he accused her. 

“Why would I flinch? I've been drinking whiskey for years,” Donna pointed out. 

“I think it's a setup,” he declared. “You didn't get real whiskey.” Silently, she extended her shot glass, letting him run a finger along the inside and taste the residue. He grimaced. “It's still suspicious.” 

“Can I have another glass?” Donna asked CJ. “This one's got sore loser germs on it.” CJ cackled and swapped out the shot glass while Josh muttered something to an increasingly amused Sam. Toby just poured another round. 

This time Josh was quicker off the mark to pick up his glass. “To victory!” he announced broadly, tapping the glass hard against the table before tossing it back. Toby and Sam both took a shot as well this time, while CJ just sipped on something that looked to be about 90% crème de menthe. 

Donna tapped and tossed as well. “Can we get any food? I haven't eaten since lunchtime.” 

Josh was fumbling slightly as he put his glass down. “Food will spoil the purity of the rematch!” he insisted. 

“Not if you both eat an equal amount at the same time,” Sam pointed out. “I wonder if they have any guacamole.” He nudged Josh out of the booth so he could slide past. Josh staggered a little when he tried to stand, but made it. 

“Ooh, can you see if they'll make guacamole fries?” Donna requested. 

“And maybe some fries without green slime on them,” Josh added. 

“And a pitcher of margaritas,” CJ requested. 

“That's not exactly food,” Sam pointed out with a frown. 

“Ask if they'll put maraschino cherries in it,” she told him. 

“You're a disgrace to drinkers everywhere,” Toby muttered. He poured two fingers of whiskey into a rocks glass and sipped it. 

“Hey, you can't drink that!” Josh protested. “We need that.” 

“No, you really don't,” Toby told him. “She's got you in two more shots.” 

“No way!” Josh was indignant. “I'm just getting warmed up here! I'm finding my footing, I'm honing my edge, I'm ready for... another thing. A getting ready thing.” 

“Twenty bucks says you tap out after four shots total,” Toby repeated evenly, but now he was grinning. Donna thought it made him look a little bit like Satan tempting the mortals, but it wasn't a bad look on him. 

“Toby, don't egg him on,” CJ murmured, loud enough for the whole table to hear. 

“Why not? He's in Sam's room tonight, Sam's the one who'll have to deal with him.” 

CJ considered this. “I think he can manage three more before she puts him under the table. As long as they're very little shots.” 

“That's it!” Josh exclaimed, shoving his glass towards Toby. “Next round, right now. You're going down, blondie.” Donna snickered and passed her glass over as well. “Fill it to the brim,” he insisted. Toby took his time preparing the shots, obviously just to annoy Josh. 

Donna giggled and propped her chin on her fist, watching Josh from across the table. “Can I get in on the action?” She was feeling loose and relaxed after two quick shots, but her head wasn't spinning yet, so she was fine. Surreptitiously she wriggled her feet under the table, making sure her toes were all accounted for. It wouldn't do to misjudge her own capacity at this point, not with her comfort during bus and plane rides for the rest of the campaign riding on it. 

“Nope, no bets from the competitors,” Toby adjudicated, passing her a glass. “We have to preserve the integrity of the sport. “But when you win, I'll buy your horrifying french fries.” 

“Deal.” Donna tapped and drank, surprising Josh, who almost spilled his while hastily fumbling it to his mouth. He put it back down on the table upside-down. 

“I wasn't ready!” Josh complained, sputtering a little. “I want a do-over.” 

“Nope, after three you sit and eat,” CJ decreed, “so that nobody dies of alcohol poisoning. That's not a headline we need tomorrow. Josh pouted, but within a couple of minutes, Sam was back with french fries and a pitcher of margaritas that looked to have a jar's worth of maraschino cherries in it. CJ blew the bartender a kiss and told Sam, “I'm not sure if that was your charm or mine.” 

“Pretty sure it was mine,” Sam admitted, sliding back into the booth. “He gave me his phone number.” 

“Why Samuel, you sly dog,” Donna giggled. Josh just goggled. 

“What?” asked Sam. “I'm not going to do anything with it, but it was flattering. Could you pour me some cherries with margarita sauce, CJ?” 

Donna turned her attention to her guacamole fries, chasing little bits of tomato and avocado around the plate with stray french fries until she'd finished most of her plate. “I don't think I can eat anymore right now,” she admitted. “Maybe after Round Two.” 

“Shhhh,” CJ told her, pointing across the table. Josh was hunched over his barely touched plate of plain french fries, his chin cupped in one hand, his eyes closed. He was snoring lightly. 

“Aww,” Donna said, her heart melting a little. “He hasn't been sleeping this week, he must be so tired.” 

CJ rolled her eyes. “You're a soft touch, Moss.” 

“I don't think that's a bad thing,” Donna pointed out. “Can I have some of your cherry margarita?” 

On the other side of the table, Sam squirted ketchup onto Josh's fries and began to eat them while he and Toby discussed the first pre-draft of the convention speech. Sam wanted to get a head start, but Toby was adamant that starting a convention speech before Hoynes officially conceded would be tempting fate. 

“It's not like we're making a prime time victory announcement, Toby!” Sam insisted. “We're just working ahead on a speech he's likely to have to make, given the momentum we've worked up and the state of the race! It would be almost impossible for him to b-”

Toby banged the table with the flat of his hand. “DO NOT TEMPT THE WHATEVER, SAM!” he insisted very loudly. Josh jerked awake with a start, his chin falling off the heel of his hand. Before he could recover, he faceplanted straight into the plate of ketchupy fries. 

“...the hell?” Josh muttered helplessly, raising a ketchup-spattered face to look around at them all. “What are you guys doing here?” 

“Okay, I'm calling it,” Toby said. “CJ, you owe me money.” 

“You said two more,” CJ observed, rooting around in her purse. “That was only one.” 

“You said three,” he reminded her. “You were wronger.” 

“Fine,” she sighed, pulling out her camera and thumbing it on. “Hey Josh, say cheese!” 

“What?” Josh asked. CJ took several pictures. 

“You're a mean and evil person, CJ,” Sam told her. “You're going to make copies, right?” 

“Of course. Donna will get the first copy, right, Donna my dear?” CJ looped a sisterly arm around Donna's shoulders. 

“Of course right,” Donna agreed with a laugh, fishing cherries out of her drink. “But we should probably put him to bed.” She picked up a few napkins from the table and walked around the side of the booth so she could sit on the edge and wipe ketchup from Josh's nearly slack face. 

Josh stared at her as she worked, his eyes barely focusing. He was really gone. “You're pretty,” he told her, reaching out to capture a strand of her blonde hair between his fingertips. Luckily, he had no ketchup on his hands. “We should make you press spokespershon.”

Donna grinned at him fatuously, both of them ignoring the indignant “Hey!” from the other side of the table. Josh had really beautiful eyes, she decided. She'd noticed them before, all brown and chocolatey and with just little traces of laugh lines around the edges. She liked the way he was looking at her now, like there was no election and nobody else in the room but her. 

“Okay, that was fun, but I think it's time to be done now.” CJ was suddenly standing right next to Donna, wiping the last ketchup from Josh's face with the efficiency of a mother spit-cleaning a five-year-old. “We've got a long day tomorrow, even with the morning off. Donna, you still got your legs under you?” Donna nodded and stood, weaving back and forth but not in any real danger of falling. “All right, good. You and Sam get Josh back to his room, then you drink some water, take some aspirin and go to bed.” 

“Okay,” Donna agreed. She smiled at CJ, then impulsively stepped forward and gave her a big hug. “I really do like you,” she told the tall spokeswoman. 

CJ laughed, a little startled, but hugged her back anyway. “I like you too,” she assured Donna. “Now go to bed.” 

“Okay.” Donna waited for Sam to push Josh out of the booth, then got one of his arms over her shoulder while Sam got the other one. Josh was helping after a fashion, moving his legs in vaguely walky motions. 

“I'll be back down in a few minutes,” Sam told CJ and Toby as he steered their little group toward the elevator. Josh didn't remember his room number or where his key was, so it was lucky he had Sam for a roommate for this leg of the trip. Donna giggled as they worked together to push and nudge Josh into bed, wrestling him out of jacket, tie and shoes before dropping a blanket on him and calling it good.

“Do you need any help?” Sam asked Donna. 

“No, but I'm going to steal some of your aspirin if that's okay,” Donna told him. “I think my bottle is empty.” 

“Feel free,” he told her. “I've got a full bottle in the black shaving kit. I'm heading back down, see you tomorrow.” 

“Night, Sam.” Donna took her time getting the aspirin, nosing about in the boys' toiletries just because she could, then feeling vaguely guilty about it. She soothed her conscience by setting out a couple of aspirin and a glass of water for Josh as well, then just sat on the edge of his bed for a minute to stare at him. “You're pretty, too,” she told the unconscious Josh, who was snoring loudly now. “And I like you.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, something she'd never done before and never would've dared while sober, then left him to sleep it off. “See you tomorrow!”

**Author's Note:**

> Cameo school appearances in this fic are Knox College in Galesburg Illinois, site of one of the Lincoln-Douglas debates and all-around lovely little campus, as well as Madison East High School, home of the Purgolders and alma mater to Bradley Whitford, class of '77. Couldn't resist.


End file.
